If I offer you a glass of water, and bring back a cup of ice, I’m trying to teach you patience. And also that sometimes you get ice with no water, and later you’ll get water with no ice. Ah, but that’s life, no?


I made a t-shirt that says, "Today's my birthday" on it, so that I can ask for hugs from strangers and point to the text on my tee as the reason why they should oblige. It's not a once-a-year t-shirt, as I wear it every Tuesday.

TEACHERNext. I am afraid --STUDENTI em afred --TEACHERWe are out --STUDENTWee are out --TEACHEROf badgers.STUDENTOf badjurs.TEACHERWould you accept --STUDENTWud you accept --TEACHERA wolverine --STUDENTA wolver-eene --TEACHERIn its place?

I don’t want to develop—I want to evelop, because it’s more positive. Similarly, would you rather your love evolve or devolve? That’s why if you need me, I’ll be on the sofa trying to evelop myself as a person.

I think about her sometimes, and wonder what she’s doing and who she’s doing it with. I suppose I could just stalk her Facebook page like a normal person, but that doesn’t seem as romantic as surveillance and GPS tracking.

I love in all directions, except southeast. Don’t ask me why, because I already told you where. Also, don’t ask me who, because the list of who I love is as long as a phone book, though arranged by height, and not alphabetically.

The humans are dead (I'm glad they are dead)The humans are dead (I noticed, they're dead)We used poisonous gases (With traces of lead)And we poisoned their asses (Actually, their lungs)Binary solo!0000001, 00000011000000111, 00001111!

Some who have read the book, or at any rate have reviewed it, have found it boring, absurd, or contemptible, and I have no cause to complain, since I have similar opinions of their works, or of the kinds of writing that they evidently prefer.

The rocky terrain wasn’t the reason we were on uneven footing. She had no feet, and I was in love. We made love like Nickelback makes music—and I enjoyed it, but I wish the fans in the audience wouldn’t have screamed so loud.

Lover’s Lane is so narrow only unicycles can travel down it. My high school teachers didn’t call me “The Babe Ruth of the Bicycle” for nothing. It’s too bad they didn’t call me that, because it was accurate.

I put the sing in single—especially when I’m in the shower. Does anybody have any requests they’d like to shout out while the water’s getting hot? As always, silence all cell phones during the duration of my performance.

Buy one I love you for $3.99. Buy twelve for $48.00. That’s a savings of twelve cents—directly into my bank account. WARNING: CHOKING HAZARD—Objects not intended for individuals who tend to put forever objects in their mouths.

If I could fly, I would soar all the way up to the window of a plane carrying a suitcase in my hand, then I’d motion toward the plane’s door and make an annoyed face at the terrified passengers. I have a feeling I would do this a lot.

I am one pair of roses away from the grave,” I told the midget with the twelve-inch erection. It wasn’t his—he was just holding it for a friend (that impressive penis belonged to a much taller man). Ah, but that’s life, no?

I sympathize with a mother who has three mouths to feed—especially if two of those mouths are on her face. With a woman like that I’d listen twice as hard for doublespeak. I’m pretty accustomed to picking up on political rhetoric.